


Cold Stone, French Perfume

by peresphone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loving Marriage, Lucius Malfoy-centric, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 15:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11084196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peresphone/pseuds/peresphone
Summary: "Tears were streaming from Lucius's eyes as he was enveloped by the warm water. Warmth- an unfamiliar concept to him now. He struggled to compose himself, sniffling, but Narcissa laid her hand on his cheek and wiped his tears with her thumb. 'It's alright, Lucius. You're home now.'"





	Cold Stone, French Perfume

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Oh, do I wish I did. Don't forget to drop a review! x

Cold Stone, French Perfume

•

The worst thing about Azkaban was the cold.

The dementors were, of course, atrocious- but there was nothing that sucked Lucius's spirit away like the chilled stone walls of his cell. He spent almost all of his time huddled in the back corner, gripping the gritty rags of his prison uniform around him.

He couldn't feel his feet. He couldn't walk. Lucius Malfoy, Pureblood aristocrat, reduced to crawling forward on his hands and knees to shove his face in the gruel dropped into his cell.

That day, when his cell door creaked open and the Dark Lord stood on the other side, Lucius raised his deadened eyes to his gaze for the first time. Azkaban had hollowed him out- he had nothing to fear from his Lord anymore.

"Ah, Lucius. Look how far you've fallen," he'd said with a smirk, before beckoning to someone to help Lucius out of his cell.

They'd hurried forward, their black robe diaphanous around their slim body, and as they crouched next to Lucius a strand of long blonde hair slipped out from their hood.

"Narcissa?" Lucius croaked. His wife shushed him and rubbed his back, and he leaned into her, tears flooding his eyes when he recognized the sweet smell of the French perfume he bought her every year on their anniversary.

She took him home, and refused help from the house elves in healing him. Narcissa laid him on their bed, ignoring his grime, and peeled off the shreds of clothing that had done nothing to protect him from that dreadful cold. She tossed each piece of fabric up and burned it to ash in the air, vanishing the remains before they hit the ground.

Blood flaked off with each rag. Welts and bruises covered Lucius's flesh.

Narcissa said nothing, but led him to the bathroom where she'd filled their enormous tub- one to rival the bath of the Prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts- with water and laced it with Healing potions. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from the candles she'd placed on every available surface. She helped Lucius into the tub, which was deep enough to come up to his mid-chest while standing. Then she quickly dropped her robes to the floor and climbed in after him.

Tears were streaming from Lucius's eyes as he was enveloped by the warm water. Warmth- an unfamiliar concept to him now. He struggled to compose himself, sniffling, but Narcissa laid her hand on his cheek and wiped his tears with her thumb.

"It's alright, Lucius. You're home now."

And so he cried, and she held him and joined him in his tears silently, and when he'd calmed Narcissa reached for soap and a soft washcloth and began lightly scrubbing his body. The Healing potions were doing wonders for his injuries, and she repeatedly cleansed the dirtying water that swirled brown and red around them.

When he was cleansed, she pulled him from the bath and dried him with a soft towel, put a Warming charm on his dressing robe, and led him back into their bedroom. Sitting Lucius on the edge of the bed, Narcissa knelt on the mattress behind him and slowly, gently, began brushing out his wet blond hair. Lucius leaned back against her, his eyes drifting shut warm and comfortable and safe. It took an endless amount of time, but she never yanked, and when she was finished brushing she put it in a loose braid to keep it off his face. And then she climbed off the bed and positioned herself in front of him, bending down until they were face to face, placing her small hands on his knees.

"Lucius."

He opened his eyes. They were still so lost.

Narcissa took his face in his hands and kissed him on the forehead, his cheeks, and finally brushed her lips against his. She lingered there, eyes closed, breathing in his breath. She waited.

And Lucius's hands slid up her arms and behind her back, drawing her to him, warm and safe and _his_. They flowed back against the covers, moving gently, deftly, and Lucius felt a bead of heat in his throat. He pulled back, tears brimming in his eyes again, and stared at his wife.

Narcissa, his love. Still with him after all he'd done.

She stroked his face and smiled sadly.

"Come on, Lucius. Let's get you into the bed."

So she turned down the covers and tucked him in like he was a child again, but there was not an ounce of patronization in her.

The lights were off, the air was clean, the bed was soft, Lucius had bathed, he smelled like a human being again, he had his wife beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, and he was _warm_ -

"I'm so glad you're home, Lucius," Narcissa whispered like a secret, raising his hand to her mouth and kissing his palm.

He entwined their fingers, and rolled onto his side to wrap his other arm around her and pull her close, a sigh escaping him as he tucked her head under her chin.

"Me too, my love."

_Me too._


End file.
